The Impossibility of Calculating What Comes Next
by MamaRaya
Summary: Hermione and Draco accidentally become study partners, but they have trouble staying just that. Dramione!
1. 1997

**March 1997- Sixth Year**

Hermione was stressed; to say the least. Exams were around the corner and Harry's lessons with Dumbledore were making her nervous. Not that she trusted dreams as any legitimate hint of the future, but she was having dreams about battles and lightning and everyone she loved falling from the sky. She was worried about Ron, maybe just out of habit; she was worried about Harry and Ginny because she wished they lived in a world where they could stay happy and light the way they were now; she was worried for everyone as she felt the war getting nearer, and all of this worrying was draining her.

All of those weighted clouds in her head meant that when Hermione turned the corner and found her least favorite person in the aisle of the library she desperately needed access to, she could barely manage to be surprised. After all, Advanced Arithmancy was a very quiet class, she had forgotten that he was in it and that everything that could go wrong always would. Stupid mistake.

Malfoy was standing with his side to her, focused on the books in front of him and searching for something. She didn't contain her audible "ugh" at his presence and he turned around at the sound. It alarmed Hermione to see that he had been, however briefly, scared at the realization there was someone behind him. He had flinched, and his hand had gone to the pocket, where his wand was probably tucked. _Why was he scared of her?_

"Granger." He growled. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was strained and hard. She pointed at the shelf he had been scanning. "It's a library." He sneered.

Hermione had seen his sneer at least once a week for five years and knew it well. Sometimes it was full of dangerous malice, but sometimes a rather weak façade for his own insecurities. He turned to face her and set a book he had pulled off the shelf onto the table beside him. "Of course. It's a Saturday night Granger, you couldn't find anything better to do? Couldn't find any nasty, sniveling little Gryffindors to take you up to the Astronomy tower?"

Hermione wished her face hadn't briefly fallen. Ron had said something cryptic about a Hufflepuff; Harry and Ginny had been curled up on the couch in the Common Room when she had left. They had barely noticed her leaving. Hermione collected herself, confident that her pity party had lasted only a single second.

But Malfoy was a snake, and he could catch the weakness in someone in less time than that. "Looks like I'm right."

Hermione stuck her chin up and out at him. "I take it you're here for the same reason then?" He scoffed, but she saw the same flash in his eyes. Hermione put her hands to her face, rubbing the growing ache in her temples as she remembered how frazzled she had been when she walked in. She needed to be able to grab multiple books from these shelves to write this essay. "Look. I have to study in this room too. Can we just, work silently without killing each other?" She looked up and glared at Malfoy, who was now standing stiffly, squinting at her.

"I don't trust you, Mudblood." She let the slur pinch at her heart without expression.

"I don't trust you either." With that she sat in the second chair at the small table and threw her bookbag to the ground.

He looked at her oddly, surprised at her decisive actions. She stood, trying to get past him, to the very shelf he had been perusing not long ago. Still in a kind of shock from the strange turn of events, Malfoy didn't move. Hermione put her hands on her hips, surprising herself at a stance she used comfortably with her friends. "Please move."

Draco had never noticed how much taller he was than her. He had definitely never smelled her. The coconut oil in her hair bounced off of the musky parchment smell in the close quarters they now shared. It was like there was cotton in his ears. He couldn't hear her nagging at him to move, and couldn't move even if he had heard. He was stuck. Her bossy stance betrayed her waist and significant hips and suddenly he could see the whole girl in front of him. Her eyes stared up at him and they were a brown he couldn't begin to understand. They were the color of the danger that shone in a bludger headed straight towards your head. Finally able to shake himself out of his trance and move aside, he let her by and sat dazedly in his chair.

Draco opened the book he had pulled from the shelf at random when she had snuck up on him. It was useless. _Of course._ And now he needed to get up and find the one he needed. He checked his notes. He hadn't been able to find _Isopsephy & The Impossibility of Calculating What Comes Next _in the section on Greek Philosophy or in the Divination stacks. It had to be in Arithmancy, even if the title promised to question the practice he enjoyed.

"Um, Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was quiet and he could hear the resentment in it. He looked at her and found her staring at her shoes. "The book I need is on the top shelf. Do you mind…?"

Maybe it was because his real problem was with Potter and Weasley. Maybe he had been tired and stressed and hungry and so very, very scared for months. Maybe it was because of her stupid treacle-colored eyes or very soft looking skin, but for a strange moment, Draco forgot to hate her. "Yeah of course." He answered kindly, then quickly furrowed his brows and coughed a little. "Fucking Gryffindors think they're so great but they can't even get their own books, huh?"

She scoffed at his attempt to cover his chivalry. "Oh yes, Malfoy. I'm quite helpless without a big man to help me." The sarcasm snuck a smile onto her face without her noticing. He could see her thick lips curled into something really genuine, something she probably really needed. It made him want to smile in return, but he was smarter than that.

Hermione didn't move from where she was, though they were close enough to touch without reaching. She just looked at him, daring him to say something else she could tease him with. Like he was someone else, he thought, like he was one of her idiot tried to put as much disdain in his voice as he could muster. "Which book, Granger?" He was alarmed when she stood up on her toes, bringing her body even closer to his, to point out a large, tan, and very old looking book. _Of fucking course._ He pulled down the book he had spent twenty minutes searching for.

His sigh must have been loud, because she tilted her head at him. "You're working on the same essay, aren't you Malfoy?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You'll need this too then." She frowned down at the book that was now in her hands, and that was when Draco saw the wand in her right hand. _Why didn't she just accio…?_ "We'll share." They both looked at the table, and she made the decision for them both, for the second time tonight. Hermione pulled her chair next to his and lay the book out on the table. When she pulled off her outer robe and set it on her chair, leaving her in the school uniform that covered nearly all of her skin but showed him so much more of her, he barely remembered to grumble something about mudbloods and personal space before he sat down at his chair and leaned into the book.

* * *

Hermione walked back to Gryffindor Tower on default. If she hadn't managed the trick step coming out of the library hallway and the staircase that had a temper and moved suddenly if you took the stairs too quickly at least a hundred times, she might not have made it back to the portrait of the fat lady, who coughed when Hermione blanked at the password.

Nothing had changed, she firmly told herself, clinging to the small stack of books in her arms as she walked without seeing the nearly empty common room that held only Parvati Patil and some giggling fifth year curled into each other on an overstuffed armchair. So, she had spent her Saturday evening studying in the library-there was nothing odd about that. Sure, she had shared a table with Draco Malfoy. They had shared a table and a book. They had shared some of each other's notes, because it turned out he knew what he was doing when it came to Arithmancy. And they had shared a few looks.

She tried not to think about these looks, because it made her actively anxious to remember how she would look up from writing, subconsciously rubbing the swollen spot on her finger where her quill rested, and catch him gazing at her. That was the only word for it. He had been taking her in, painting and re-painting his previous image of her in his head. Hermione knew very acutely that she was not your typical kind of thin and tall and pale kind of pretty, but she had seen men's eyes on her before. Most of the time they rested on her ass or her chest and stayed there. Occasionally their glares were focused on her hair and her dark skin, and it was hatred she saw in them, mixed with lust like vinegar and milk. Malfoy had looked at her the way Krum used to, the way Ron had a handful of times. Like there was a light inside of her that only he could see.

Sometimes, Hermione was able to whisper her thoughts. To herself. As though if she thought something at a normal volume, with the kind of attention she gave a dangerous Quidditch game or an interesting class, she would have to acknowledge that she had given it thought. Very quietly, she admitted to herself that she had looked back at him, and done her own unnoticed looking while he had been biting his lip while he read with determined focus. She quieted her loud mind, panicking about the meaning of a look. Because at least she hadn't been gazing, or anything like that. No, she had kept her glimpses at his falling bangs and sharp jaw furtive and nervous. _Which isn't really any better._

* * *

The Arithmancy section of the library was a moderately sized cube, one ancient table and three chairs if nobody had dragged one of them to another, more popular section. It had a strangely sized entrance that took up exactly three-quarters of what was otherwise a shelf, so that sometimes books held up by magic would fall into the doorway before they were replaced by conscientious students or, more often, Madam Pince. It was all of the things Hermione loved about the Hogwarts library.

For the next three Saturdays, that little box of books was theirs. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, of all people, had become unofficial study partners. During the rest of the week, the house rivalries and mutual hatred between them and their friends reigned. When Malfoy, flanked by interchangeable Slytherin cronies, faced off with Harry or Ron in classes, Hermione found it easy to act normally, shaking her head and thrusting insults as she had for five years. Her mind was perfectly in keeping with how things were meant to be. Yet her eyes had gone rogue. If he came up to them in the Great Hall to taunt or tease, she found herself staring at his graceful hands or the curves of his neck, and losing track of the argument. At last weekend's Slytherin/Hufflepuff game that the boys had insisted she attend with them for a scoring reason she didn't care to understand, she had spent an embarrassing amount of time watching him fly (smoothly, like the way he walked, or wrote…)

Hermione was proud of the job she was doing pretending none of this staring was happening, but she couldn't justify the black and white fact of four Saturdays spent together. Saturdays when their elbows had accidentally knocked together more often than necessary and his beloved slurs had ceased. She had learned that when he was frustrated and couldn't get the math right, he made a little growl and it made her laugh. She had frozen once when he had reached over her to correct a translation she had done wrong and their arms had been tangled, his breath hot and sweet when he turned around to ask if she understood and she nodded helplessly. Thinking about it all made her head hurt. Ginny had more than once expressed concern at Hermione's sudden recurring headache problem.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was better than this. He was better than some arrogant, know-it-all Mudblood. He had known that for five years, hell, he had known he was expected to aim much higher than this since he could say the word "muggle."

He hadn't been sleeping, he offered as an excuse to himself. He hadn't had a good night's rest or a satisfying meal all term. He wasn't himself. So maybe this version of him, this pathetic child who couldn't seem to manage the one thing that had ever mattered that he got right, deserved this. Perhaps this thing he couldn't stop thinking about was punishment for all the shameful tears of panic he had shed in the last months. It didn't matter. Draco was certain of two things: Hermione Granger was the worst possible person to be thinking about, and he didn't give a shit.

At first, he had simply seen her. He had watched her mind at work, up close. And he had discovered the hints of body that conservative uniforms could show. That could have been enough. Should have been enough. But he had spent the next week remembering her pitch-black eyelashes and not insignificant thighs. He found reasons to mess with Potter and the ginger asshole that looked at her too much. Just to be near her, to see her in this new way over and over again.

The second Saturday, when they pretended it wasn't completely purposeful that they had each come to the Arithmancy section at the same time despite all logic and wisdom, he had tried to undo all of his revelatory considerations of her. He had failed.

By their third meeting, which they thankfully hadn't discussed but had silently agreed upon, he wanted more than looking. He had to completely re-write parts of his notes from that night because they were utter nonsense since he had been thinking the entire time of ways to touch her. Small ways. Draco found himself suddenly obsessed with the round of her shoulder and the tendrils of baby hairs that appeared when she pulled her mass of hair off of her neck. He touched her hand, her arm, the top of her thigh, all as innocently and accidentally as he could manage. And for a few hours, he forgot about Dumbledore and his father and vanishing cabinets. She was a living, breathing reprieve. He had actually been hungry last Sunday morning. Blaise had gaped at him as he took in a full English breakfast.

After four Saturdays of grazing hands, Draco was fairly sure he wasn't alone in this headfirst teenage hormonal tragedy of a mistake. She was doing plenty of looking, he knew, even when she thought he didn't. And while she didn't seem to be making any moves of her own, when his thigh "accidentally" knocked into hers under the small table, she hadn't moved away. Even better, and this should not have thrilled him the way it had, she had spotted a miniscule feather from the evening post on his breast pocket and had picked it off without hesitation. The very thought of her small, sweet hands on his chest was enough to distract him through an entire dull class that week. It was all getting very embarrassing. Yet when he began to spiral into agonizing over thinking about Hermione bloody Granger, he always ended up in the same place: he didn't give a shit. Because it felt good, and it was just about the only thing that did.

* * *

On the fifth Saturday, Hermione didn't know what to expect. The essay they had been working on for the first two weeks was finished. There had been a test yesterday, and it had been enough of an excuse for them to study for it a few weeks out. Today there was no Arithmancy to be done. They could read ahead, or read extra texts, but both felt like very thin excuses to be in the same cramped, warm, quiet room alone and unsupervised with a boy she was supposed to despise.

Exactly how far were they supposed to take this? She had gone back and forth all week on showing up, debating the chance that he wouldn't and she would feel foolish, or that if she didn't go, he would and she would wish she had for a reason she was not willing to think about at normal volume. She didn't remember deciding, but of course she had.

Hermione walked into the quasi-room with pretend nonchalance. She held her books the usual way, tried and failed to blow her wild hair out of her face normally, and she swore to herself that it didn't matter at all that Draco Malfoy wasn't there.

She hadn't wanted him there and she hadn't expected him there, she told herself in a strict tone exactly twice (because any more would imply that she was lying.) Leaving behind thoughts of him, she settled into rather pointlessly reviewing the notes that she had made last week. Obviously, she had come here because she needed to study, and for no other reckless reasons.

* * *

Parchment was very smooth and comfortable on her tired cheeks, so when she heard a gruff and purposefully loud cough very near her, she resisted moving. Her brain told her to quickly regain her dignity and get up, but her exhausted body was having none of it. A decent compromise was opening her eyes, and just as soon as they were open she jerked her head up and her hands came to her face to wipe the invisible remaining sleep away.

"Do you go out of your way to have depressing weekends, Granger? Or are you just this lonely now your idiot boyfriends have real girlfriends?" Malfoy smirked (or was it a smile?) at her and sat in the adjacent chair, leaving only a small table corner between them.

"They're not idiots" Hermione responded groggily.

Malfoy scoffed. "I've seen very little evidence to the contrary."

Hermione rolled her eyes, still regaining her footing in this conversation. Unable to find the right scathing reply to this, she settled. "Clearly your weekends are equally, in your own words, depressing, Malfoy. Or you wouldn't be here."

"Maybe I just prefer this to a loud common room." He shrugged his shoulders and opened a book that had been in his arms.

Hermione would later realize she hadn't thought out her reply. She blamed having just woken up. "And why's that Malfoy?

Draco looked up from pretending to find the right page in the thick tome in front of him. "Maybe it's the company." There was no other word for it. Malfoy leered at her.

"You're telling me you'd rather spend your evening with a swotty Gryffindor than your mindless friends?" Hermione could save this. She could pull this back to casual, if perhaps flirtatious, banter. He had crossed the thin, implicit line of talking about this, but she could ignore it and save both their dignities.

Draco proved her wrong with a single word. He closed the book and turned his body to fully face hers. "Yes."

She had always thought it was just a saying, but Hermione's jaw really did drop. Which Draco smirked at, raising his hand and gently closing it for her. His hands were astonishingly soft, and cold. "Why are your hands cold?" She barely managed the question. She sounded almost like a scared child. She didn't feel in control of her own body when she reached out to warm them between her own. He looked at their hands and then at her, surprised and relieved. They sat like this, Hermione's dark hands cradling Draco's pale, cold fingers, staring at each other, until Draco realized that he would never forgive himself if he didn't do more than sort-of-not-even-really hold hands with her.

He pulled his hands away from hers, which dropped to her own lap, making a little dent in her skirt. Finding sitting terribly awkward, he stood and looked down at her, waiting for her to follow. It took her a long moment, but she followed his lead and then they were just standing there, Malfoy almost a head taller, his features no different than they had been in his years of hatred, Hermione's hair just as wild as always, her usual frazzled determination just as present as it was in class every day. They were close, not touching by a mere inch, squished between their chairs and the table ledge, the air between them serving as an almost tangible reminder that they knew each other, despised each other, and desperately wanted each other.

He had been so confident. He had thought ahead to his opening salvo, and that had gone fine. But now, Draco was stuck. This didn't feel…right. What was his plan? Had he had one? He was going to kiss her…right? _Fuck._ Yes. Kissing her. Please, yes, he wanted to be kissing her. God, she's shorter than he realized. He couldn't, like, pull her to her toes, could he? That felt strange. _Like THAT is what's strange, come on._ But now he was just staring at her. They could have been about to duel. It would've been far less surprising. "Granger" he muttered, his early confidence gone.

"Yes?" Her voice was quiet, higher and more feminine than usual.

"I don't know why…" He was shaking his head.

"Me neither." She mirrored him.

"But you want…"

"Yes."

"We can't tell any…"

"Definitely not."

Long pauses are good at settling a situation; letting any individuals whose brains have been totally taken over by emotions and aching, eager bodies catch up.

"I still despise you." Draco bit back the smile in his lie.

Hermione's laugh was brief, tiny, and almost innocent. "Obviously."

Her little grin made Draco sigh, his eyes growing heavy with the effort of taking her in without touching her. And now there was no reason to keep that the status quo. The air around them felt clear and clean and he could be anyone here. He wanted her tea-colored eyes on his, so he gently lifted her chin, garnering a gasp. He let himself give her a glimpse of a smile that hardly anyone ever got to see, and saw her eyes soften at him in response. When he leaned in to kiss her, she pulled back a little, but he knew it was just to make him reach further for her, and he did. He found her lips with his and pushed and pulled at her, pressing weeks of want in between their tongues. It was engulfing. Their mouths were hot together, and he thought their lips may actually be bruised tomorrow.

Hermione wasn't sure when Malfoy had pushed her against the tall, uneven wall of books, but she was happy to have something solid behind her, something that wouldn't let her fall into the canyon that was him. Having always been a brain person, she was unused to paying this much attention to her body. But now she knew what hips felt like because his were ramming into hers; she knew what her waist was for because it was a soft handle for him. She had never paid much attention to her thighs but here they were glued together, trying to create the friction and pressure the new place between them ached for. God, his mouth was just going everywhere.

It took Hermione three times as long as it should have for her brain to get from "shouldn't make sounds" to "silencing charm" to "wand" to actually performing the spell that would let her moan as he sucked and bit at her neck. Never having liked her fairly significant chest, which her roommates had expressed envy over, now she realized that if he put his hands or maybe even mouth there she would reconsider her opinion.

Draco couldn't get enough. He was mildly concerned that he never would. And she kept not stopping him. She didn't stop him leaving fairly obvious marks on her neck, or slowly slip his hands up her shirt to find everything he wanted underneath. Hermione bloody Granger kept encouraging him. She found the hem of his shirt too, and was leaving thin scratches down his back, urging him towards her. Her hands cradled his cheeks and hips and ass, all in effort to pull him into her more. Her tongue found his sensitive neck and when she had rubbed her wet lips against his left ear he had groaned and bitten her jaw.

Hermione had just let Malfoy tuck his thumbs under the band of her skirt to push against her hip bones as he destroyed her mouth with his own, when Madam Pince shouted that the Library would be closing in five minutes. Draco pulled away, and the sudden loss of his weight and heat and mouth was like diving into cold water and Hermione had to lean hard against the bookshelf behind her to keep her balance. Looking up, she found his hooded eyes looking her up and down with exhaustion and lust. "Fuck, Granger."

She bit her lip, knowing she was blushing. She was starting to feel the bruises and hickies. Her lips were sore and swollen. She couldn't help herself. "Still hate me, Malfoy?"

He growled in response, coming back towards her with his hard body and fierce lips.

She held out a hand to stop him, but couldn't help a giggle. "We have to leave." He easily pushed past her hand and left a hard, fast kiss on her lips. She wished she didn't give in to it immediately. When he left her again, she sighed and collected herself. Watching him try to tuck his shirt back into his trousers, watching him clumsily hook his outer robe back on, she noticed his neck and laughed. "You should stop somewhere and cast a few glamour charms, Malfoy."

He looked up and nodded at her. "You're one to talk." She rushed a hand up to her neck and he grinned like a child that had just gotten away with something. Looking like a sloppy version of himself, book bag over his shoulder, Draco walked back to Hermione, who hadn't moved from her spot on the wall. He leaned over her, and she could smell her breath on his. She couldn't help it when her body and lips moved eagerly towards him, but he didn't take her offering. His smirk had a new flavor to it- like it held a secret coded message just for her. "I'm going to be a dick in Potions." Hermione looked confused, and his snarky grin grew. "To you. I'm going to be an asshole to you, and I want to you know that this is what I mean by it." Then his lips were on hers again, hard and deep, his teeth biting her lower lip. She opened her eyes to see him walking out of their warm cubicle and it took her another minute to step away from the wall, and another to grab her books and wrap her scarf around her entire neck until she could find a girl's bathroom on the way to the Common Room.

* * *

Malfoy was a total dick in Potions class on Tuesday. In fact, he was mean enough that Ron moved to comfort her. When Ron's hand touched her shoulder, and rubbed a light circle, Hermione had to hold back a laugh at Malfoy's scowl. But that afternoon, there was a tiny scrawl in her evening _Prophet._ "Prefect's Bathroom, 9PM" and Hermione had to come up with a very quick excuse for the blushing grin that Harry saw sweep across her face.

On Friday, Draco decided to be an asshole to Harry and Ron. She hadn't even been there. They had come up to the Common Room to find her and Ginny chatting and they told her about his empty threats at dinner. When Hermione had pushed for them to tell her what he had said, remembering to feign anger, Ron had told her. "'Remind her she's a filthy little know-it-all.' He'd said. Not his best, is it?" Ron had laughed. Hermione had blushed, and prayed her friends thought it was out of sensitivity. That Saturday in a magically expanded broom closet, when Draco murmured the same words against her lips as he unbuttoned her blouse, she had bitten hard on his bottom lip, making him moan.

They spent the Spring this way. Hermione grinned for no reason at all, and rubbed absently at covered bites because it made her remember the previous day's hours in closets, library cubbies, bathrooms, and a few select very hidden places on the grounds. Draco plotted ways to send coded messages to her through bullying her stupid friends, to touch her inappropriately under desks at Prefect meetings, to sneak very dirty notes into her mail.

Eventually, they slept together, in a version of the Room of Requirement that was little more than a large couch. Hermione had moaned that she couldn't stand it anymore and tore off her panties, leaving Draco speechless. It had been painful and fast and awkward. The next day he had included with her morning _Prophet_ an unexpectedly sweet note, and after a few more tries they considered themselves rather good at it. The first time Draco went down on her, Hermione wanted to apologize to Parvati for all the times she had been annoyed at the fifth-year that often spent the night in her silencing-charmed bed. She got it now. On his birthday, Hermione got rug burns on her knees and he grinned for three days afterwards. There was a rumor he had been cursed.

* * *

On June 29th Hermione Granger had been laying on Draco Malfoy's sweat-damp chest, the hot blush of her body still cooling off. His hands were in her hair, and she could feel through her cheek that his heartbeat was still erratic, even though they had collapsed into each other's arms nearly five minutes ago. "Granger." Hermione answered with a kiss to the center of his chest before she decided to continue and began trailing kisses around his nipples and up towards his neck, flipping herself over onto her stomach and looking up at his solemn face.

"What's wrong?" Her words were slightly slurred from exertion and ecstasy.

He kept his hands in her hair and he sighed loudly. "Can you promise to do something without knowing what the circumstances would be?"

Hermione made a face and he huffed, remembering who he was talking to. "Of course you can't."

"I can try! I can try. I promise." Hermione smiled and it made him relax. Draco nearly asked himself when her smile had begun to instantly calm him, but he assumed it would be earlier than he'd like to admit to himself, so he carried on.

"How about this…" He began. Hermione was frowning, her eyebrows furrowed together in concern and attentiveness. "If something happens…if I have to do something…bad. Do you think…maybe you would forgive me. Someday." It wasn't a question, because he didn't really expect an answer. At least not an honest one. How could she possibly know what he was asking of her. He shouldn't be asking at all, because there was no way she could. Draco supposed he just needed to know that someone might.

Hermione was quiet. They didn't talk about this. Draco had become, ironically, her safe space where she didn't think about wars and Horcruxes and half-blood princes. She knew very well that he had a glamour on his left arm. She had chosen, perhaps foolishly, not to think about it. They had told each other, silently, that this was separate from that. Now he was asking her to ignore that, and she didn't know if she could.

She kissed his cool chest again, looking up at him, a kind promise in her eyes that she knew he could read. "Draco." She had only used his name a few times before. In her head, it translated to _I care for you_ , and in the few times when he had called her by her name, she had heard the same translation in his voice. "Did you take the Mark?" It was almost inaudible. She moved to hold him down, terrified he would jump up out of anger and run from her.

He looked down at her, instead, and moved his hands away from her hair, placing them on her naked, glistening back. In an almost measured movement, his face fell grim, and he swallowed. It was enough. She nodded. "Do you believe…?"

"No. Not anymore." He was firm, before she could even get a question out. He grabbed her face, looked at her hard again and repeated himself. "No. It's my family…"

Hermione pushed herself up onto her arms and moved up his body, falling to him and pressing her lips softly onto his, like a head hits a pillow. He thought she might answer him, but she kissed him instead. She was being strangely gentle, and he ignored the tears falling into their matched mouths. Very softly, she spoke against his skin, "We don't know what might happen. We can't predict the future. We don't know what we will do until we're in the situation, and then we just try to do what's right."

Hermione didn't say she would forgive him, and he was grateful. Instead, she kissed and kissed and kissed him with soft pressure, moving from his lips to his neck and his chest and his nipples and his beautiful, strong arms, and even his glamoured left forearm, once, with as little hesitation as she could manage. She took two of his fingers into her mouth and he moaned. She felt herself get wet and hot and wanting and she ground herself against his thigh so he could feel it too. She guided his hands to her thighs and hips and chest, and she hovered over his mouth until he had kissed and sucked each of her dark nipples to her satisfaction. When she felt him ready for her, she slid onto him with intentional slowness that made him snarl her name. When she rode him, she tossed her head back and held his hands to her chest. Her moans were breathier than usual, and he wasn't sure when she stopped crying. She nearly made herself come, rubbing her clit and sliding up and back onto him slowly, but as soon as her muscles tightened around him he groaned and grabbed her hips so hard he would leave bruises and moved her to his speed, fast and deep. She smiled at the change and moaned more loudly and solidly than before. Keeping her fingers on her clit and closing her eyes, she let him watch her and they came together. When she slid off of him, she found herself once again laying aside him, her head on his chest.

* * *

Two days later, Dumbledore was dead and Malfoy was missing, and Hermione took the longest shower of her life, weeping and scrubbing until she was raw, trying to get all of him out. His last bruise, on her hip, and his last hicky, just beneath her right jaw, were still there at Dumbledore's funeral and she hated that. For the first week of summer break, she didn't get out of bed if she didn't have to. _Thank god there's a war to fight,_ she hated herself for thinking, _or I might never get up again._ In the second week, she got up and began to do exactly that...

* * *

 ** _A/N: Eek! I think this will be about three chapters, but you tell me what you think!_**


	2. 2000

**A/N: This chapter is quite a bit shorter, but also dirtier and the next is coming soon! I said three chapters but I'm not sure so I'm just gonna write until I feel it's over. I am loving the reviews, please keep them coming they make hard days so much better.**

* * *

 **Two Years after The Battle- May 1999**

If there was anyone who would know to ask, and there wasn't, Hermione would swear that she hadn't thought about Draco Malfoy in two years. _Thank God for Ron_ , she thought as she looked over at the boy she shared a bed with. If she hadn't loved him before, and maybe she had, Ron had patiently, determinedly, won her heart over the course of the worst year of her life.

At the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor, as it had become known, he had been so desperate to save her and completely ignorant of the real situation. Draco had been a breath away from Hermione's face, pretending that he couldn't identify her when she knew very well he could have found her in the dark. She forgave him in that moment, watching the terror in his eyes. He was more afraid than she was. He was no villain. It hurt her nearly as much to think of him as good and let go of the bitterness that had carried her past her heartbreak.

In that moment she had decided that she would henceforth think of Draco as nothing more than a school bully redeemed in the ugliness of trauma. And she did. She put him in a box labeled HISTORY and she moved on. She kissed Ron; she fell in love with Ron. She let Ron believe that they were discovering love in all its forms for the first time together and there was something in that easy lie that felt logical to her, because it felt like an act of love itself: protecting him from a fact that would hurt him.

Hermione was part of the Weasley family now, in all but name. Their flat was next to George's, originally a necessity when George couldn't sleep without screaming, but now it was nice. Their life was exactly that- nice. Harry and Ginny came by nearly every day. They all took turns cooking. She and Ron babysat Teddy and baby Victorie occasionally, and watching Ron with a baby warmed her heart.

Draco had moved on too; it was a small world, an even smaller city. She had run into him with Astoria at Flourish & Blotts a few months ago. Everyone had been appropriately polite. The pair had seemed happy. Hermione had struggled not to breathe him in, even when the door to the shop had opened, letting a warm spring breeze come through and heighten it. He smelled the same. Mint and spice and that ancient smell-like worked wood and old books and a generations-old family cabin in the summer all combined. He smelled like he had inherited the right just to be there, beautiful and broken. The breeze had carried him to her senses and she had been more turned on then than in the last year of coupled bliss with her best friend. But she was an adult, and he was too, and they had made the choice to respect that in each other. Sort of.

* * *

In the surreal summer after Voldemort's death, the entire Wizarding World was in recovery. That, she supposed, had been their chance. They had seen each other, even. At a library of all goddamn places. Each studying for the Ministry offered N.E.W.T.s.

"Granger." His voice didn't even shock her, like she had been expecting to hear it all along. She looked up from the book she had been flipping through trying to find the details of the Spanish Witch Trials of 1765. He looked good. Of course he looked good.

"Hello Malfoy." She kept her lips tense, not inviting any excitement. "Taking the N.E.W.T.s?"

Draco nodded towards the book in her hands. "I'm out of practice studying." He didn't say it was because he had spent a year cowering in fear and another in trials.

Despite her own efforts at good behavior, she let herself watch his lips as he spoke. She nodded, looking back at the book, then at the shelf that she faced. She turned her body towards him, nearly giving herself instructions on how to act like a normal person. _Laugh, just a little._ "Yes, I think I've forgotten all of History of Magic from sixth year." He raised an eyebrow, and this time her uncomfortable laughter was real.

Draco had always been better at this. "Yeah. Turns out my Arithmancy notes from sixth year are quite useless." Hermione looked down to hide the unstoppable girlish grin.

"Yes. Um. That book." She made eye contact that spoke titles and memories and as much restraint as she could include. "I haven't been able to find it anywhere. I don't think we have access to the Hogwarts Library."

"It wouldn't be there." He leaned his side against the wall of books. His meaning dawned on her quickly.

"You have it?"

"Call it sentimental reasons."

Sexual tension, complex past, whatever else was going through Hermione's mind at that moment didn't completely take over her personality and now she was uninhibited. "Draco, you can't take books from a library. Students will need it! It belongs to the school!" She noticed her slip too late and calmed her voice. "I mean. Malfoy. You really shouldn't have done that."

"I'll buy them a new one." His voice was slick like it used to be right before he would push her against whatever wall was nearby. She wisely took a step back. "You need it for the Arithmancy exam?"

Hermione nodded, facing the floor. "I'll just have to go to the store."

He shrugged against the wall, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "Save the trouble. I'll bring it in." He really knew what he was doing, Hermione thought, excited and horrified by the prospect, because he didn't give her a chance to decline. As he walked away, he called behind him, "This time next week?" but it wasn't a question.

Hermione did a very good job pretending that the chance meeting, and plan to meet again, meant very little. She even mentioned it to Harry, the one most likely to ignore Draco's past and most likely to forget she had said anything. But it was out in the open, as if it hadn't shaken her.

* * *

Draco didn't know how he had done it. Or why. Or what he was expecting or even wanting from this. A week was too long to think about it. He went over every possibility, answer, and philosophy that could apply. There was a reason the Sorting Hat had briefly considered putting him in Ravenclaw. With all his worries and guilt and fears, he eventually came to the same conclusion that Hermione Granger always led him to: he didn't give a shit. He simply wanted her near him again.

He was nervous when she wasn't in the stacks. But there she was, wild hair and sweet skin that was more display than usual thanks to the summer heat. In one of the few private study rooms. _Smart girl. Beautiful girl. Brilliant girl._ She sat with her back to the glass windows and door, so she jumped and turned around when he came in.

"Private room?" He asked, as though it was a surprising choice.

"I thought it might be rather noticeable, the two of us studying together." Her voice was flat, no-non-sense.

Draco nodded, with a small smile, then pointed to the wall of half windows and the clear door. Hermione stood and waved her wand at the glass, casting a glamour that made the room look empty and closed for re-flooring. Draco's blood rushed everywhere. She would never admit that she had practiced the spell. She was standing there. Just standing. Just looking at him, her face unreadable. The book was in his hand, heavier by the second. "We shouldn't."

 _Unbelievable girl._ "Stop me." The book hit the floor, and Hermione winced. He couldn't move slowly. He couldn't not be kissing her. Three years was plenty, thank you very much. His arm wrapped around her waist, the other on her cheek. She had raised her face to him, for him. She had leaned into his hold. She wasn't going to stop him. _Amazing girl._

Hermione was shaking. He felt her lip trembling under his thumb, and he shushed her gently, holding her too tightly. She blinked, and he gave in. Then his thin lips were surrounding her plush lower one, and she was crushing herself back onto him. She inhaled sharply at the intensity, and he pushed harder, his tongue finding hers to taste the warm, fierce honey that was her.

He didn't know how long they stood there, his hands in her hair, down her back, on her neck, cradling her face. But when she tried to back up to sit onto the table, he made a whole new plan and unbuttoned her blouse, kissing her shoulders as each appeared to him. She reached behind and unhooked her bra and it fell and he gaped. Some things had changed since she was sixteen. _Perfect girl._

He fell to her, his hot tongue crawling up her hips and ribs and into the sweet gulf between her breasts. On her dark skin his pale hands looked obscene grasping onto her back and pulling her to him. In the brief moments when he managed to look away from the skin in front of him, he looked up to see her, glorious, her head back, her tight curls carefree, her neck open and vulnerable to him. In this moment, he couldn't understand how she managed to hide behind her bookishness. She was sex made real. She was Calypso and Circe, Isis and Venus; every good witch and every evil goddess that she had surely read about and he couldn't even name. It only felt appropriate to get on his knees.

Without hesitation, he lifted her up and pulled her skirt down. The small sound of ripping fabric was accompanied by her gasping, but he thought that might have more to do with where his mouth had landed now that the clothing was out of the way. Unsure if it would leave a mark, Draco tried his damndest to make it obvious that her inner thigh belonged to him. She squirmed, reminding him that it didn't, she didn't. He dragged his teeth gently up towards her black cotton panties. She cried out in an embarrassingly feminine squeak when he pulled them aside and gave a long, deep lick. She was pushing herself into him, silently begging for more, but he grinned and replaced the black cloth with mock delicacy and moved up to her hipbone, where his mouth regained its determination to make it her remember that she had been his for at least a moment. Her vulnerable whines began to take the shape of his name and he pulled away, satisfied with the lightly purple circle he had left. That would hurt tomorrow. That would remind her of his mouth for days. She would need an excuse for that the next time Ron... _don't think about that._

He sat back despite every part of his skin wishing to be touching hers. He was able to look up at her here, and after catching her breath she returned the favor and found his eyes, a gorgeous grin taking up her flushed face. Some of her tight curls fell to her face, the rest wild behind her. He could see her eyelashes from here, framing those swallow-you-whole-eyes of hers. She offered him a hand to get up to his feet but he shook his head silently and dove back into her. At first, she sighed because she had wanted his kiss, his face up by hers, but when he kissed slowly up one leg, his hand grazing the other lightly, she shivered and relaxed. When his thin fingers pulled down the black fabric she moaned with more frankness than he was prepared for. It made him groan and grow harder than he needed to be right now. And he was about to make it more difficult for himself.

He was astonished and more than a little bit proud to be able to see how wet she was for him. When he thrust his tongue into her the previous moan was paled in comparison. As he licked and twisted and sucked and nibbled and kissed she couldn't stop making sounds. He had never known someone to make so much noise uninhibited-and in a library. So he did more. To accompany his tongue, his slender fingers pushed into her, curving into her spot. Some things hadn't changed since she was sixteen. When the leg she had thrown onto his shoulder to give him urge him on began to shake her moans became cries of his name and _please_ and he resisted the urge to pull away and smirk at her. Instead he pushed further, refusing to leave her wanting for anything. He moved his arms up to hold her waist and support her as she shook, suddenly silent. He let himself have that well-deserved smirk and she panted as he left soft kisses on her swollenness before rising up to his feet.

He could not have loved the look on her face more: sated but hungry, her eyes dark and unfocused but gazing at him with determination. She threw an arm over his shoulder and pulled him into her, rubbing her hips against his aching hard on. She silently laughed when he nearly flinched with sensitivity at her touch. She pulled his chin forward gently and thoroughly kissed him not quite gently, tasting herself and him at the same time. He had never of that possibility as incredibly sexy but it was. She was in with him; she wasn't holding back or hesitating. They were right there together in their uninhibited freedom. He groaned at the kiss and the thought and the fingernails she was running down his back. That was the last straw. He had to have her.

He picked up her curvy, grown woman body up by her thighs and she squealed with laughter and surprise and it made his need more intense. He found the wall that wasn't shared with any of the other rooms. He knew the brick would leave small scratches on her, so he tried to balance her away from it, but she used her legs to urge him forward and pointedly hummed with pleasure at the rough feel on her back. He pulled her brown with the unbelievable copper sunburst eyes into his evening sky gray ones as he pushed into her.

This time it was his head that fell back in ecstasy and she reached her mouth to leave evidence of her on his neck. Draco couldn't think; his head was full of her, her, her and tight and warm and wet because of me and oh my god. He thought he would fall over from pleasure, or worse, drop her. Just as this fear became overwhelming she began to join him in the breathy groaning and she was begging again, her back scratching up and down on the wall, her gorgeous chest heaving, her stomach tightening in eagerness. She began her _fuck Draco please Draco Oh God_ and that was his sign. Pushing deep and fast he relished every inch of her and let her do the same.

They did fall. Managing to cushion their fall with their own tangled limbs, they found themselves on the shockingly cold floor. His hands found her warm stomach and he placed his head onto her chest. Her hand found his lightly damp hair, pulling it back and whispering inaudibly how good he was to her just then.

When Hermione caught her breath and the mint spice sex clouds of him cleared from her mind, she remembered Ron. Then Astoria. Then, strangely, she remembered sixteen-year-old them, and thought they might matter more than whatever their current situations were. Then seventeen-year-old them arose, and she remembered all the reasons why they had fallen away from each other in the first place. Dumbledore. Bellatrix. His parents and hers. Her deep sigh held regret and guilt and a remaining, breathy desire. His head still on her chest, he spoke first. "I know."

"We shouldn't have, Malfoy."

"No."

"Astoria."

"I know."

"I can't hurt another woman, Malfoy."

He was silent and she was grateful that he didn't make excuses that could have alleviated her shame.

He stood up then, her chest cold where his head had been. "Look, Granger. I'm not going to say this was a smart choice. But I would make it again." She noticed that he was still wearing his clothes. She watched with a perverse sadness as he buttoned his pants and found his robe, a part of her wanted more than anything to pull them off of him and lose her rationality all over again. Gritting her teeth she stood as well, finding herself disconcertingly naked.

She covered as much of herself as she could with her arms and watched as he walked away, picked up the book, and sat it on the table. When he turned he inhaled sharply at the picture of her, naked and faintly scared. Stalking back to her, he held her silently with his warm, solid arms until her head dropped to his shoulder. "Next week." He whispered. Then he held her chin, turned her eyes to his, and kissed her with more carefulness than ever.

He had a habit, she remembered, of leaving her like this. Trembling and abruptly alone, she watched him leave the suddenly too big room. Collecting herself as quickly as she could, she removed the glamour from the room and walked home.

* * *

It had killed her not to go back at the same time the next week. She had stood in her living room for twenty minutes, books in hand, ready to jump in the fireplace. Eventually, she dropped them, walked back to her room, removed only her shoes and robe and got into bed. Ginny had come over for dinner and found her, fully dressed and crying in bed.

Hermione had to start over. She wouldn't think about Draco Malfoy. Not like _that_. Never again, no matter what the numbers said. Starting now.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think! :)**


	3. 2003-2004

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, each one is like a free pint of my favorite discontinued ice cream flavor. I know a lot of y'all are really aching for a happy ending and I'll just say, I am too! ;)**

 **Five Years after the Battle of Hogwarts- July 2003**

He had tried to get angry at her. He had searched the library, waited in a study room, searched again, left, and returned twenty minutes later just in case she had gotten the time wrong. She never showed. And for months, he pretended he was angry at her, though there was no one to even try to fool even if he could have. Eventually he re-wrote the dalliance in his mind as intentionally a one-time thing. He pushed away thinking of her with tenderness or desire, and he tried to kiss Astoria with the same from-his-bones feeling he had always given Hermione.

Perhaps it was his very insistence that he no longer had any feelings towards her that let her slip into his subconscious, let his too-cunning-for-his-own-good brain plan the very thing that would ensure he could see her without suspicion.

It had taken him an hour to write the letter. Twelve pieces of parchment. It was embarrassing. Draco felt sixteen again, unable to think past smooth skin and now-faded memories of gasps and moans. It wasn't as though it was a love letter, or some kind of confession. This was strictly business, he told himself. He would never bother her in her gilded Gryffindor bliss if it hadn't been necessary.

 _Miss Hermione Granger,_

 _The newly-established Dragon Heartstring Foundation would like to cordially invite you and a guest to the first Veterans Gala. As a lauded veteran of the Second War and member of the Order of Merlin, it would be an honor if you would choose to attend. This year, the funds raised at the Veterans Gala will go towards establishing schools to aid Squibs integrating into Muggle Society, as well as the continual restoration of the grounds of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. _

_We do hope you can attend the Gala, to be held September the Ninth at Hogwarts School's Great Hall at 8pm. Formal attire (dress robes and gowns) is to be expected. 20 Galleons/plate. RSVP at your convenience._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco Lucius Malfoy_

Having finally written the damn thing without shaking, Draco stood up from his desk and paced. Three times he went back to the parchment, determined to write more. Twice he walked away shaking his head and chiding himself abrasively. The last time, he nearly ran to the desk, running on the momentum in his mind, and sat.

 _P.S. Hopefully you don't have better plans on a Saturday evening._

Hermione stared at the incredible sentence. If Ron had read it, he wouldn't have thought anything of it. It wasn't romantic, or dirty, or full of longing. It was innocuous. But it was there. It was a message just for her. Proof the letter hadn't been written with a quill charmed to recite the same words on a hundred pieces of parchment. Proof he had invited her consciously. Proof he was thinking about her. Which was like cool water after years without a drink. She stared at the post script until her eyes blurred, until she thought the very image of it, all the curling, immaculate letters, was branded into her memory. Then she found her wand and erased it, leaving only the invitation. She would discuss it tonight at Harry's birthday dinner, and subtly make sure they all planned to attend.

Hermione heard her own mind bring up all of the issues with her eagerness for this event. She saw Astoria's face, and Ron's. Morality showed up, then kindness, house rivalries, traumatic war experiences, maturity, the importance of moving on past tragic school love affairs- it all came up. But for just a moment, Hermione let herself block it all out and remember when it was just her and Draco, pressed into each other and forgiving the world.

The next day, Hermione agonized over the RSVP card. Checking yes took her three seconds. Marking that she would be bringing a plus one and filling in Ron's name took longer, her hand shaking with the slightly awkward movement of a capital W. All necessary business taken care of, she glared at the card as though it had left a wet towel on the bathroom floor. These were the times when she doubted her near-Ravenclaw placement, her too-famous status as "brilliant." Because she couldn't walk herself through the rationale behind leaving her own post script. There were obvious reasons not to and desperately evident reasons why she wanted to, and she couldn't make sense of any of them. Besides, what would she write to him? What could succinctly, delicately, casually tell him she had received his note. And what could she write that wouldn't be noticed if someone else received it.

Forty minutes later, Hermione stopped pacing and picked up her quill.

 _P.S. If it is possible I would like to request that our funds go towards further restoration of the library.  
_ _I am always eager to maintain the library that gave me so much._

It was safe. In fact, it was rather formal, even for the occasion. Yet Hermione felt a thrill between her legs and a heavy pounding in her chest. Holding her breath, she sent Pigwedgeon careening towards Draco Malfoy.

* * *

The second letter came two days later. She hadn't been expecting anything, Hermione told herself. But she released a breath she hadn't known she had been holding as the thick parchment and deep green ink was dropped onto the kitchen table. As Ron and George dove into the pile of mail, she struggled to casually reach for it and tuck it under her robe to read later. She could read it when they left for the shop, she told herself, checking the time. 93 minutes. She could wait 93 minutes.

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _I hope this finds you well. I look forward to your attendance at the Veterans Gala in a matter of weeks. It has been too long. Tell Mr. Potter and the Weasley family that we are grateful for their positive responses as well._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco L. Malfoy_

 _P.S. I always thought you looked beautiful in blue._

Hermione held the damn thing in her hand as long as she could, preparing to go work. She decided to wear jeans under her robes today. She didn't have any meetings anyway. She folded the letter with more careful measurement than was anywhere near appropriate and fit it into her front pocket. When she took it out that evening, it was warm and soft from her body heat. Wrapped in Ron's strong, gentle arms, Hermione fell asleep composing her response.

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _Thank you for your kind response. Surely, it was not necessary and your manners continue to be impeccable. Do let us know if we can assist with any preparations or organization._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Hermione Granger_

 _P.S. Your wish is my command. Blue it is._

* * *

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _You are too kind. Please allow the Foundation to give you a pleasant evening in return for your generosity. We couldn't bear to ask for assistance beyond that. We are especially grateful to have the attendance of the entire Golden Trio. Perhaps one of you would consider saying a few words? Entirely optional, of course._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco Malfoy_

 _P.S. Perhaps you shouldn't offer such a precedent. I think that would be dangerous for both of us if my wishes were granted, don't you agree?_

* * *

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _I am sure that one of us would be willing to say a few words for such a worthy cause and significant event. We truly believe in your foundation's efforts._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Hermione Granger_

 _P.S. We have each been strong in the face of danger before. Surely, we can remember the power of restraint and caution._

This letter marked three weeks since the first. Three weeks of exquisite impatience waiting for his letters, and of an even more delicious agony when she forced herself to wait hours before reading them, days before responding. The gala was three days away. The last note was rushed.

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _I hope it is you that will speak, as I know you will be the most eloquent._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco Malfoy_

 _P.S. Caution I can exercise, but I promise no restraint._

* * *

Harry elbowed Ginny when her jaw dropped as she watched her friend walk out of her bedroom and towards the group of friends gathered at the fireplace. "Hey! Aren't you supposed to be looking at me like that?" He joked.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "If you looked like that maybe." She held his chin and kissed him with enough meaning to make the dark-haired boy forget his fake jealousy.

Hermione's gown was the richest navy, tight against her top and a straight line that hid her curves if she was standing still, but if she moved at all her hourglass figure showed. The slit in the skirt that didn't stop until the middle of her right thigh emblematic of the confidence she had gained since being sixteen and anxious. She didn't usually do it because she would never spend the money on something as frivolous, but Hermione had relaxed her hair and brushed it into a low bun. She didn't think she even looked like herself, and she was starting to regret the trouble.

"You look amazing, Hermione." Ron kissed her cheek and wrapped an arm around her. Hermione told herself to relax, unable to hide her tense smile as she shouted their destination and threw the powder into the flames.

* * *

When he was very small, Draco played hide and seek with Theo, Crabbe, Goyle, and the other Death Eater's kids while their parents were meeting. Draco hated the hiding. Not only was he bad at it, his bright blonde hair giving him away even when he could find a clever place to squish himself, but it drove him crazy with anxiety. Standing behind a two-hundred-year-old wardrobe, trying not to breathe loudly, just waiting for Theo to sneak up on him the minute he relaxed. It was the agony of knowing someone is going to surprise you, and not knowing when it will occur. It was just that kind of agony he was suffering now, as he stood at the entrance to the Great Hall waiting for the students who were escorting guests from the various fireplaces.

She would be here. Hermione would be here at any moment, coming down that staircase or around that corner. He was practically jumping out of his skin. On the inside, of course. Outwardly, Draco knew exactly what he was doing. All aspects of the event were under control. He crossed things off like a checklist. Notice Astoria's dress. Kiss her cheek. Check on the food. Double check the wards. Make sure the ceiling is spelled for the exact right color sky. Make sure the prefects were escorting the guests and behaving themselves. Shake hands. Kiss cheeks. Welcome. Welcome. So glad you could make it. _Where was she?_

Naturally, he would be distracted when she finally showed up. A fourth year had snuck into the Hall and planted dungbombs underneath a few tables and the event manager was updating him on the situation when Draco heard Weasley's voice call his name, the usual almost-friendly bitterness in his tone. Draco looked up and found the four-some walking towards him from the east wing. His mind worked in slow motion as he nodded in response, looking first at the red-head, then at Potter beside him. Then the Weasley girl. He remembered to call back. "Weasley, Potter, welcome." And then let his desperate eyes find her.

Blue. Thank Merlin, she wore blue. The fact alone was a soothing potion to his anxious mind. The dark hue against her skin made her look like midnight come alive. He tried, he really tried, to glance at her like she was anyone else, but he was out of practice and his eyes were treacherous and greedy. When his eyes met hers, he relaxed for the first time that night. Maybe the first time in months.

Draco shook the boys' hands and kissed Ginny's small freckled one. Hermione followed last. "I have to speak to Malfoy about the speech, guys, will you go ahead and save my seat?" Ginny nodded at her and Ron kissed her lightly. Draco internally winced. The red-heads walked away innocently and Hermione turned to him. Her eyes had deepened and sweetened with time and war. "Can you get away for a quick moment?" She gestured to the black purse she clutched tightly, and the wrinkled piece of parchment she held in the same hand.

What would Draco's father have thought if he knew that his son was congratulating himself for remembering how to breathe and speak in this moment. "Of course." He gestured to his right and led her down the first hallway. He wasn't hiding them, or assuming anything, and he wasn't letting himself do as he wanted and carry her to the nearest broom closet. Another thing to be proud of.

He was acting so cool and confident. Hermione suddenly wished she had asked him to do something for her, something comparable to going out and spending half a day in search of a stupid blue dress. She was completely vulnerable to him. She had conceded. And what about him? So he had checked her out. So what. She had felt his eyes travel her with the same careful attention he had once used to touch her; she had repressed a shiver and gasp at the force of his appraisal. That didn't mean anything. Hermione felt her heart start to race as she talked herself into a corner of fear and insecurity. She could not do this all night.

He led her to a hallway near the entrance. Wizards and witches in gowns and robes passed by them, and they could hear that Astoria had taken over his greeting duties. They stood with one side against the wall, Draco facing away from the traffic of attendees, Hermione facing him.

Hermione was staring at the parchment in her hands. "So, I wasn't sure if you wanted to glance at what I have written. I can still make revisions before…"

"You wore blue." Draco's voice was soft for the first time tonight.

Hermione looked up as though she had just found him again. Not the host, not the public figure, but Draco. He looked healthy now, in a way he never had before. He had real cheeks and his polite lips no longer looked like their default position was a scowl. He looked like someone who laughed from time to time. She could see the skyline of a rainy London day, all glistening silver buildings and cloudy mystery, in his eyes. Seeing him like this forced her to use the wall to keep her balance.

Hermione nodded slowly. "I was just realizing- I didn't ask you to do any…"

He cut her off. Not with a kiss, but a whisper. "Restraint and caution, Granger. I think what you asked of me is far more difficult than picking out a dress." His smirk was subtle, barely any of his sixteen-year-old arrogance remaining. It made her literally weak in her knees.

All of her expressions were small. She was used to grinning with her whole face, and now she couldn't lift the corners of her mouth without feeling naked. She swallowed, her nerves dictating every movement, and brought her lower lip into her mouth unconsciously. She could barely hear the groan he responded with.

"Malfoy. What are we doing? Nothing's changed since…" Her whisper was heavy with fear.

"This time we haven't done anything wrong." He was definitely convincing himself as much as he was convincing her. Years apart and she could still read that in him at least.

Oh, with him she never she was able to help herself. She could see him and smell his clean cologne. She rose to her toes and leaned into him, aiming her eyes behind his shoulder to keep watch. "It feels like we might though." She knew he could feel the brush of her chest and she heard him deeply inhale at her words. Her body shielded by his, he ran his hand lightly down her arm and she gasped at his touch. "Draco. We can't."

He leaned forward and touched his lips to her shoulder so softly that it almost tickled. Without moving his head from the space where he could catch the breaths of her that he had been suffocating without, he whispered. "I know." He gulped so hard she could hear it, and he pulled away.

She fell back on her heels, ready to feel defeated when she found his eyes again. This time her smile was wide and coy and brave, because she knew him, and according to his pupils, and shortness of breath, and she now saw, dress trousers, he was very turned on. Which at least gave her something to think about through dinner. She bit her lip again, looking down and giving him the same appraising treatment he had given her earlier.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I suppose I should get back to my table then." The sudden use of her normal voice shocked them both. "Thank you for hosting this event, Malfoy. I'm looking forward to a lovely evening."

"I hope you enjoy yourself. Of course, feel free to find me if you need anything." And with that, Draco watched her walk into the Great Hall and reach out for her boyfriend's hand.

Always timely, Astoria walked up and slipped her arm through his. "Ready?" Draco grinned back at her with as much authenticity as he could manage.

* * *

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _The Dragon Heartstring Foundation would like to formally thank you for your attendance and speech at last week's Veterans Gala. The event could not have been such a success without your moving words and your presence. Your donation, to be specifically put towards the restoration of the Hogwarts Library, is greatly appreciated. We will keep you updated on the difference that your money makes as our progress continues._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco Malfoy_

 _P.S. How long can one event be stretched into writing to you?_

Hermione cherished the graceful flourishes on the word "you." As though he had wanted to linger on the word.

* * *

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _The evening was lovely and it was an honor to speak to the Second War's Veterans, many of whom are friends. I would appreciate as many updates about the library and, really, your foundation, as you would care to give._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Hermione Granger_

 _P.S. Does that help?_

Sitting in the Dining Room, Draco laughed aloud at Hermione's post script, alarming Astoria.

"What was that?" She asked, sounding mildly concerned.

"Sorry. You know Theo and his jokes." Draco tried to dismiss any curiosity, while he turned the envelope to be sure she wouldn't see the handwriting that was obviously not Theo's.

"Ah. Yes. You have a strange laugh."

This comment would have meant nothing, except that Draco remembered Hermione's laugh, and then he tried to compare it to Astoria's, and found that he couldn't remember what his long-time girlfriend's laugh sounded like.

"Tori, when was the last time you had a really good laugh?"

Astoria's face went from alarmed, to compelled, to thoughtful, and then she smiled. "I suppose Theo's jokes at school always made me laugh. So there you go." And it wasn't her face, or her smile, or that her last good, memorable laugh was years ago. It was Astoria's beautiful ice blue eyes that shined when she said his name. Abruptly, Draco knew.

Astoria moved out a week later. It took another week after that before he responded to Hermione.

* * *

 _Ms. Granger,_

 _I would be happy to share updates on the progress in the Library. Your donation (and other's) are currently being collected for a project to magically expand the library, adding a few private study rooms and larger History and Muggle Studies sections._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco Malfoy_

 _P.S. It does indeed._

When the letter came Hermione thought, _I had almost forgotten._ It was a lie to herself, but a necessary one. She had agonized for another letter for a full week. Then she had heard about the breakup. Characteristically, she had gone over every horrible possibility in her mind. She thought maybe he had only needed a distraction from his relationship and now he would be dating. Or perhaps Astoria had found their letters and would tell Ron any day now. Worst of all, what if they had only been formal letters and she had been continuing a flirtation in her head that didn't exist anymore? Vulnerability is an irrational beast, and it lives and grows on top of your heart, weighing you down.

When the letter came, the beast shrunk and she was light again.

* * *

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _What a wonderful plan. I imagine a larger Muggle Studies section is to complement the recently expanded curriculum? I, for one, am glad that Hogwarts students will have necessary mathematics and writing skills on top of their magical education._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Hermione Granger_

 _P.S. I heard about Astoria and Theodore. I'm sure that was painful, and I hope you are taking care of yourself._

* * *

 **One Year Later- October 2004**

Draco had grown accustomed to his correspondence with Hermione Granger. He provided updates on the library, they debated current affairs, and sometimes she provided feedback for the foundation she had no idea was named for her. Their postscripts were romantic, flirty, occasionally verging on dirty. It became a sort of delicious background noise to their lives. Draco was working, and occasionally going on dates his friends (especially Blaise, who seemed to think he would wither away if he didn't get laid at least once a week) set up. He knew very well that she wasn't going to leave Weasley. He was just glad they weren't married yet. He tried to convince himself that he would stop if that ever happened.

There were weeks without a single letter, and weeks when five or six were exchanged. These had desperate, indulgent paragraphs that overwhelmed the pretense of the note. It was nothing compared to the pressure of their lips crashing, but he would accept his consolation prize.

 _…You must see, Granger, that any foundation of this size, with this high a percentage of private patronage, must have a powerful and diverse governing board. If I was allowed to spend the foundation's money as I wish (even if the majority of it was once personally mine), I should spend it on something frivolous. I have no true sense of the needs of those wizards on the furthest end of the economic and social spectrum as myself, so I might believe they deeply need schooling, while their own priority might be transportation. If we are to make the impact that our mission promises, we must diversify our board as much as possible. This is why I believe you should reconsider joining our Governing Board._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _Draco Malfoy_

 _P.S. I have a powerful craving for chocolates today. If you were here I would let your hot mouth melt them and kiss the sweetness from your lips (or worse, if you would let me.)_

Hermione clenched her thighs tight together, subconsciously biting on her thumbnail as she read the last lines of his letter. _Damn it_ _._ Now she'd be thinking about this all day. It had long passed the time when she could reasonably stop this absurd thing that she wouldn't label "an affair." Still, some days she was all too aware of what a disturbing distraction it was.

"What's wrong?" Ron's voice was distracted behind the Sports page of the _Prophet._

Hermione startled, pulling her hand away from her mouth. "Sorry?"

Ron peeked around the page. "You looked nervous," he nodded towards the letter in her hand. "Something wrong?"

"Oh. No. Well not really. Malfoy wants me to join the board of his Foundation." She tried to control her tone to sound as disinterested as possible.

Ron raised both eyebrows at the statement (he couldn't raise only one). "Isn't it just a bunch of rich purebloods?"

Hermione had to fight the instinct to defend Draco and the Dragon Heartstring Foundation that she had accidentally spent hours thinking and writing about. "Oh, I suppose, yes. They're trying to change it though."

Ron snorted. "Yeah right. What'd he even say to try to convince you?"

Hermione stared at Ron, still in his pajamas, his hair ruffled, his smile as bright as usual. She licked her lips and exhaled slowly, then she read the pertinent parts of the letter, her voice even and careful.

He stayed interested through the whole paragraph, which was something, but when it was over he shrugged. "Doesn't make sense to me, but if you want to do it, go for it." He picked up his paper once more.

A dormant curse must have taken over her brain. That had to be what happened, because she and Ron were gentle with each other now. Post-war, post-teenage angst, they had minimized their bickering. They were adults who cared for each other, literally just as well as emotionally. She didn't even want to see a flaw in him if she didn't have to. But here was a test, a direct comparison, laid out at her feet. "You mean you don't understand it?"

He didn't bother to move the _Prophet_ keeping them from making eye contact. "Not really. Also don't see why he cares so much. If I had that much gold I don't think I'd be giving away half to anybody who needs it. He could be funding the next Death Eaters for all we know."

Hermione was suddenly nauseous. She had to leave the table. Immediately. She needed to be somewhere cold and flat and away from Ron and the letter. Excusing herself, she closed the door to the bathroom and lay on the cool tile, letting the panic settle. Her thoughts were zigzagging around her head at a speed she couldn't manage. How could Ron be so wrong about Draco? And apathetic? And _(don't say stupid don't say stupid)_ confused? How could she not be surprised at his reaction? At what damn point had Draco become the one who thought and acted the way she did?! And how could she not be surprised at THAT, either?! _Have I been paying any attention at all to my own life?_

Hermione threw up her breakfast and calmed down enough to leave the bathroom, but when she did she found Ron sitting right where she'd left him. Which shouldn't have bothered her. There really was no reason for it to annoy her. But a nagging voice in her head guaranteed her that Draco would have been holding her hair back and wiping away the cold sweat of anxiety that still shone on her temples.

* * *

Hermione Granger had spent nearly her entire eleventh year knowing she was actually a witch and she was going to a school for witches and wizards just a few weeks before her twelfth birthday. It was too much time to know something like that without the support of any kind of magical community. So she spent months studying magic on her own, reading about the wizarding world, and throwing up. She was headed into this new place where she wasn't sure she belonged. And she desperately wanted to belong. It felt like the only possible future, but she was losing everything she knew. At eleven, and now again at 25, her anxiety presented itself in the form of insomnia, the inability to keep food down, and not wanting to talk about any of it.

So, Draco stopped receiving letters, and Ron noticed Hermione would stay up with her books later than usual and fall asleep on the couch. Ginny had read about a muggle disease where people got sick on purpose and asked Hermione if she had it. Mrs. Weasley tried for feed her twice as much as usual. Harry asked her if she was pregnant, and George, who also had insomnia, stayed up late with her a few times a week, talking or playing muggle card games Harry and Hermione had taught the group.

One morning, Ron caught Hermione coming out of the bathroom. Seeing the half-eaten breakfast on the table, he sighed and stood in her way. "Hermione."

"Morning Ron." She responded, and leaned in to kiss his cheek and pass by him. He stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Sick again?" His tone was accusatory.

Hermione shrugged. "The milk's gone bad."

Ron shook his head, his messy red hair falling into his eyes. "No. Not for two months." He guided her to the couch and sat them both down carefully.

Hermione hung her head. _I don't want to talk about this. I don't know how to talk about this._

"'Mione?" Hermione didn't move. At another time, Ron's hand on her chin, softly pulling her face up to his would have made her melt. Now it felt tense and uncomfortable. Hermione looked into Ron's worried eyes. They really were an astonishing blue, not sky or ocean, but something so solid and trusting she thought it could be on a flag. His eyes were one of the many things she wished she still loved. "You have to tell me what's going on. Harry says you're not…you know. Ginny's worried. I'm worried." Hermione frowned, stoic, determined to keep her strange heartbreak quiet. "You're my best friend. Tell me what you need."

The last tiny sentence broke her resolve. Hermione leaned onto Ron's thin t-shirt and cried while he pet her hair and she breathed his smell in deeply. She didn't have a good reason, she didn't have an excuse, she didn't even have a place to go that didn't belong to one of his family members. She wasn't as accustomed to using her courage as she had been six or seven years ago, but she still had it. When it was over, hours later with tears from both of them, she put most of her things into her charmed bag and left him sitting at the table. She apparated to Harry and Ginny's, without warning, and found them cuddling on their couch. One look and Harry was grabbing floo powder to go to Ron. Ginny wrapped Hermione in a thick blanket and held her all night.

 **A/N: I swear I'm not ending these so depressingly on purpose! Life is hard for our star-crossed lovers. They both needed to individually realize that they weren't in love with their partners. Review and let me know what you think, if only because it will make a gal happy!**


	4. 2006 Part 1

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and the followers! (Hi!) Just a heads up: I think this chapter is a bit *ahem* more adult than usual. No need for trigger warnings, nothing violent, just a little dirtier in my opinion. Not that that's a bad thing…**

* * *

 **Two Years Later (Eight Years after the Battle of Hogwarts)-November 2006**

It was too damn cold, even for the time of year. It should not be snowing in November, Draco pointlessly told himself. Yet the flakes melted onto his blonde eyelashes as he walked to the Leaky Cauldron, unable to justify the laziness of apparating the single block's walk. His hands began to thaw the second he walked into the warm, golden-lit bar and looked around to see if his appointment had already found a seat. Not finding the person he was looking for, instead his discerning eyes stopped at Hermione's face, warmer than the room and the firewhiskey she sipped.

Draco couldn't have helped it if he had tried, and he chose not to try today. He let his senses take her in- dark eyes, glowing skin, new short hair that made her look somehow even more feminine, as it showed off her delicate neck. There must have been a hole in his chest because her presence filled it. When Hermione felt his eyes on her and met them, his breath caught. It was only generations of upper-class breeding that allowed him to be so shaken and keep his appearance proud and impervious as he made his way to the bar. He hid the imperceptible smile that crossed his lips a few minutes later when he overheard her excuse herself to order another drink.

Hermione walked up and leaned over the bar next to his chair, though there wasn't enough crowd to make the closeness necessary. She caught Tom's eye and nodded at him, then waited. "You know, as far as anyone knows, we're friends, we ought to say hello." She said quietly, avoiding looking at Draco.

Draco grinned and raised his glass to his mouth. "We were never really friends, Granger." She exhaled in admission, but he calmly inhaled her scent and felt her give in and do the same, the two of them breathing heavily together, until Hermione, if he knew her the way he thought he did, started to get turned on and cut herself off, turning to him sharply.

"Malfoy, it's nice to see you." She said in a normal tone of voice.

Draco smirked at the idea that anyone was paying attention and, if they were, hadn't noticed the good minute and a half of not acknowledging each other before this awkward exchange. He adopted her casual tone. "You too, Granger. It's been awhile. I can barely remember the last time we spoke."

"Must've been at that gala a few years ago." She answered, and the voice she reserved for fake niceties was piercing and painful when he knew how low her moans could go when he hit certain spots.

"That's right. I think I'm still waiting on your reply to my invitation to join the board." He sipped his drink. "Offer still stands, though my pride would take a beating for waiting so long."

She hung her head. "I'm sorry about that. I think you…" she glanced subconsciously at his lips and he ignored the shiver in his spine as he nodded, answering her unasked question. "…you know that my life changed a bit and I had to put a few things on hold."

Tom approached and took Hermione's order, and a silence set in, each of them facing forward, their elbows touching in an unsatisfying way that made Draco more irritated than he had any right to be, as he tried to remind himself.

Draco ground his teeth together, angry and self-pitying. He looked down at the oak bar, his gaze hard. "Two years, Hermione. Why didn't you write me?"

Silence. Draco pulled his head up, determined to hold his pride up with it. "After you and Weasley…I heard about it weeks later, from Blaise of all people. If he found the letters…I shouldn't have had to hear…"

Hermione broke him off. "It wasn't about you, Malfoy." He couldn't tell if she was angry, or if she was really just that calm. "He didn't find…I didn't want…" She started again. "We broke up because of us, not because of anything you and I did."

Draco hadn't realized he had thought her breakup could have been partly his fault until she said that it wasn't. A stone lifted from his deep within his stomach. "And you've moved on, apparently..." He looked at the man in the booth behind them and turned suddenly sincere, his anger a low simmer. "I didn't know you were dating, Granger. I wish I had." He stood, glass in hand, and began to walk away from her. For the briefest moment as he rose, they stood with barely an inch between them, their chests grazing, and Draco could feel her heat and smell the floral sweetness of her hair. He looked down at her, and in a hundred other moments he would have reached down for her chin and claimed her mouth. Instead, he chose to leave her standing there. Hopefully she would be a little disappointed, he wished selfishly.

He didn't make it far when after about two steps she called after him. "Why?" He quirked an eyebrow, asking for clarification. "Why do you wish you had known?" It was the first thing she had said at normal volume that could have given them away, and it thrilled him.

Draco smirked. "I would've liked a chance to throw my hat in the ring, Granger, did you ever think of that?" Hermione's mouth opened slightly in surprise and though it had been a few years, Draco was fairly sure he saw a flash of lust in her eyes.

* * *

An older woman Hermione didn't know but thought looked vaguely familiar joined Draco ten minutes later. After apologizing to Robin, informing him that Draco ran a large foundation and had been trying to get her on the Board for a while now (it wasn't a complete lie, she told herself.) Robin seemed to understand, though he was also a bit less engaged and complimentary for the rest of the evening. After two drinks and more pauses between conversations than was usually a good sign, he mentioned a meeting the next morning and offered to walk her home. Hermione declined and hugged him goodbye, wondering if she actually would ever see him again.

Ron and Hermione had only managed to stay apart for four months. The heartbreak had thrown her into a deep, constant loneliness. She saw Ginny and Harry when she could, and reconnected with Luna and Neville, at which point she remembered that she had never had many friends outside of Harry and the Weasleys. Not that anyone needed more than that. She was spending every night alone, every weekend putting in extra hours at work or reading stacks of books. She lost the soft relationship weight she had worn well, and ate too many dinners that were just cheese and crackers. Only months earlier, she would've done anything for a few days to read by herself, but now the silence was relentless and repressive. She _missed_ Ron. Like a really terrible bruise right on her heart.

So, about three months after moving out, Hermione started pretending she was doing much better, subtly asking after him to Ginny and Harry as though she was only mildly interested. As though it didn't pinch to hear about him. Ginny was hard to fool, but Harry wasn't. She learned he was "okay" and "taking care of himself, mostly." As she continued to fake happiness, it started to bloom anyway. She found herself realizing she hadn't felt alone all day, or that she had gone an entire weekend without crying. She started to cook a little, and found new restaurants to order from. A genuine sort of contentment snuck up on her. Then Susan Bones knocked on her office door. Unsure what a bar owner wanted with the Undersecretary of the Department of Education, Hermione had made the poor girl more nervous than she already was. Because, bless her cotton Hufflepuff striped socks, Susan was there to ask, "girl to girl" if Ron was off-limits. Apparently, he had asked her out a few nights ago and she thought he was cute, but "knew they had just broken up, and didn't want to hurt anyone." Hermione had held in both laughter and tears. Susan was _perfect_ for Ron. It poked the bruise to think of him with someone else, but the idea of Ron happy also healed it, just a little bit, from a deep purple to a gray-blue.

A month later, Susan was a regular at Weasley dinners, and Hermione's bruise was a sort of pale green, thanks to time and space. Over lunch one day, Ginny was almost giddy to invite Hermione to the next Weasley dinner. "With Ron's express permission." She said, "You're family, we all know it, we all want you back. He's doing good. I don't think he's over you, I don't know if he ever will be completely, but he really likes Susan. Whenever you're ready." Hermione had given it another three weeks, each Sunday giving into hesitation, frightened to face the disappointment of Molly and Arthur.

On the Sunday when Hermione had finally gathered her courage enough to step out of the fireplace and into the Weasley's kitchen, she immediately smelled home. A home that she had grown out of, but could always return to. The Burrow smelled like wet grass and boy, mixed with dust and the smell of fresh bread. She closed her eyes and inhaled as deeply as she could and opened her eyes to find Ron in the corner of the kitchen, having just come in from outdoors where she could hear the rest of the family was laughing. Hermione was paralyzed, the tension between them making her want to turn right back around and go home. But Ron, her good, kind Ron, just tilted his head and squinted at her. "Were you just smelling the Burrow?" Hermione felt her face heat up and she opened her mouth to stutter an answer but he beat her to it. "I leave you to your own devices for a few months and you go batty." He mocked exasperation, shaking his head. "Harry's gonna kill me."

Hermione had a lot of really wonderful memories of Ron, both as friend and boyfriend and everything in between, but one of her favorites would forever be was the way he had walked over to her then and hugged her in a gentle, friendly way that told her he was glad she was there.

Hermione had started dating a month later. So far, she hated it. She went on four dates with a man from work who had gone to Durmstrang. They slept together, it was terrible, and neither owled the other again. When they ran into each other in the elevator once, they shared a terse smile and an uncomfortable silence. Hermione joined a book club at the Ministry that read muggle literature "in an effort to increase awareness of the benefits of muggle studies education." She went on two first dates with men from that group. She had been too smart for both of them; it was clear they were only in the club to meet women.

She went on a date with a Ravenclaw a few years ahead of them that she vaguely remembered, who asked her out one night when she was at the Leaky Cauldron with Luna. Thomas had been smart, funny, and admittedly good in bed. They had dated for a month and she had started to really like him. He was slim in ways Ron wasn't, in the shoulders and chest, and he always opened doors for her. But he never slept over, and they never went to his place, and one day he just stopped writing. Hermione thought about owling him, but found she didn't care that much and so she didn't bother.

She had met Robin accidentally, today, when they ran literally ran into each other turning a corner in Diagon Alley. He had recognized her, telling her she, Ron, and of course Harry had made the papers even in America. He was cute, and she liked the way he curved his vowels, so she said yes when he asked if she wanted to get a drink. Hermione had just been thinking how happy she was to be in a place in her life when she could meet a nice man and get a drink, where she could work on the weekends without feeling guilty, where she had the Weasleys and her friends and then some things just for her, like volunteering at St. Mungo's and the book club. This life suited her, she had thought to herself convincingly.

And then Draco had showed up and ruined everything. Hermione wished that thought hadn't made her bite back a smile.

* * *

Draco had to end this meeting. It was his own fault for setting it over a drink, instead of a normal meeting at the office. Nobody wanted to linger at an office. And he'd been building this relationship for months, building up to ask the witch, an American millionaire who apparently made her money in muggle films, for a significant donation. Draco tried not to watch Hermione on her date out of the corner of his eye, but when the skinny, unremarkable man left with an awkward hug and Hermione made no moves to leave, Draco knew he had an opening. He just had to plan what to say…

"I think she likes you too." The witch interrupted his thoughts.

Draco's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm sorry? I just thought I saw someone I knew from school. My apologies. You were telling me about your ideas for projects here in London?"

Even her grin seemed wise. "Call me on Monday, Mr. Malfoy. Muggle telephone, if you would." She stood and scooted out of the booth, putting her cloak and scarf on and placing her wand up her sleeve. Draco stood up as she did, a gentleman even when distracted. The woman, nearly his height, put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him with humor and kindness. "Be patient with us witches, Mr. Malfoy. It can take us longer to know what we want, but once we make our choice, we put all of our strength behind it." Draco ducked his head, feeling the pink rise on his cheeks as his guilt at squandering her time mixed with his embarrassment at his transparency. The witch leaned in closer and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "That goes for all sorts of witches, and all kinds of situations." She pulled away and righted herself, then wordlessly pulled out her wand and applied a glamour to her face, making her unrecognizable yet retaining her beauty. "Good evening."

Draco sat back down, his clouded mind translating what the woman had said. It sounded like he might get the money for the Foundation, at least.

For nearly five minutes, Draco Malfoy sat at his table, staring blankly and drinking. Across the bar room, Hermione Granger sat mirroring his actions. The two watched each other, daring the other to move. They were playing a torturous, teasing game of chicken, both too proud to give in and join the other's table. Each click of the soundless clock made Draco more desperate. He gazed as she closed her eyes to enjoy her wine. She squirmed in her seat, anxious for something, maybe, if he was lucky, for him. Two years without a word was too long. Draco tried to remember the last time he had touched her, in any way. Her hair had been long, her waist thicker, her face showing fewer worries but less joy. He had been so tense then, with Astoria. He remembered keeping his hair severely short. Now he let it get shaggy a bit between cuts. Now he wore casual robes sometimes, if he didn't have meetings. He was comfortable in his life. _Was she?_

* * *

Hermione was squeezing her thighs together so tightly that it was almost making the problem worse. It had been so long. Not since anyone, but since _him._ Breathing in a hint of him at the bar had been too much of a taste. She hadn't written him for a good reason. Many good reasons, she thought, but she couldn't remember any of them now. She was supposed to be more sensible than this, too intelligent to reach out to the same man who had broken her heart at sixteen, no matter what had happened in the meantime. Hermione stewed. _You've never been intelligent when it came to him. Why start now?_

She rose from her seat and Draco sat up straighter, watching her walk to his table. She sat across from him, refusing him the eye contact he sought until she was settled.

"Malfoy." She didn't smile.

"Granger." He tilted his head to her, a fraction of a gentlemanly bow. He did smile, just a little bit.

She bit her lip and he bore his eyes into her lips so hard it could have burned. He kept waiting for her to say something, and she didn't. She looked at him, tilted her head a little, and waited.

You don't know how slow a minute is until you're paying attention. In an entire minute, a million things can happen. They had each witnessed that truth before, in battle. Hermione hadn't known that minutes could take up that much time in a calm room full of other people, but she knew now. Finally, Draco pulled too many galleons from his pocket and placed them on the table and stood, tugging his coat around him, wrapping his scarf around his neck. He almost pretended she wasn't there, but she was mirroring his actions, pulling on her own coat. They walked to the door silently, and when he offered her his arm, she knew it wasn't to walk, but to apparate.

* * *

Hermione was curious about his place, knowing he had never gone back to Malfoy Manor after the Battle of Hogwarts. If she knew Malfoy, and she did, it would be gorgeous. Expensive and opulent, perhaps verging on more old-fashioned than most people would expect. She had a second to look around the living room they landed in. Lush silk chairs and chaises were arranged on a somewhat simple but clearly luxurious black Turkish rug. Then she couldn't see the room because her back was against the wall and her eyes were filled with his. That gray. She thought her eyes had faded a bit with age already, the chocolate brown faded to a sort of amber, but his were unchanged. Their icy fearlessness dove into her, finding her lips and neck and breasts and hips. She felt him find all of his favorite little spots and she could almost feel the hot kisses he wanted to place in those spots before they had even happened. The back of her head hit the wall first, and her mouth opened as a reflex to the insignificant pain. He caught her lower lip the moment it was free, sucking on it with a false softness, compelling her to prove her own enthusiasm.

Hermione grabbed his slim hips and pulled him to her. Draco, _clever boy_ , pushed the rest of the way, until the wall behind her really was the only thing keeping her up, and there was hardly any air between them. His hands found her thighs, smaller than when he had last held them, and her hips. His thumb pads brushed under her top, immediately finding the tuck of her waist and rubbing up towards her breasts. Hermione was relieved, after months of wondering if she felt comfortable letting men go where they wished, to find she simply wanted Draco limitless. Not that he had asked. He was already pulling off her coat, robe, shirt, bra. Before she could think about it, his lips were on her bare stomach and her hands were crawling at his back, pulling off his clothes.

They battled, her arching into him as he pushed her back into the wall harder each time. The struggle made her smile. _So different from anyone else, so different from Ron, so different from tentative strangers._ They had a kind of trust you only have when you've been…whatever they were…for almost ten years. Hermione groaned as Draco's gracious lips found a nipple. He bit and sucked and licked and blew cool air and she forgot how to hold herself up. She gasped his name and picked up one leg, making a weak attempt to wrap it around him. He understood. He pulled away from her breast with a last light nip and found her lips with his once more, leaning into her hard and pushing their kiss to the strength they both wanted, their tongues swaying, their lips demanding the most from each other. With a single pat to her thighs, he told her to wrap her legs around him and she obeyed, with a grin that didn't interrupt them. He carried her down a hallway she couldn't see, to a bedroom she had never been in before. A tiny creature in the back of her mind wondered if she was the first woman to enjoy that smooth transfer. She doubted it, but quieted the jealous demon.

He hadn't set her on the bed, but set her next to it, standing, and pulled his sweet mouth away from her. Hermione wanted to beg him back to her, but instead she took him in, starting from those already swollen lips down to his defined arms and trim body. He was still wearing his trousers, but had apparently kicked off his shoes at some point. She looked at his hungry eyes and grinned, biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth with excitement. Lowering to her knees, Hermione undressed him, pulling his legs up one at a time, manipulating him carefully like a delicate machine.

Finally, she had all of him, and best of all, he was looking down at her with amazement. It was the look people gave when they expected her to be smart, but she showed them more than they had even presumed. When she wrapped her mouth around his tip he groaned, and she realized this was the most uninhibited they had been able to be. No school, no library, no partners. She relished it, and worked her way around him with the same adoration he had always shown her. Looking up at him, she found his eyes immediately, gawking at her like he had dreamed of this for years. Keeping her eyes on his, unable to look away from the platinum coolness drinking her in, she reached down to feel her own wetness and moaned, sending vibrations around him. She grinned evilly.

Hermione wanted him, so she couldn't let him go. With a slow, lengthy suck, she released him and he growled, lifting her up by the arms and kissing her deeply. Still standing, pressed together like they were afraid to be torn apart at any moment, Draco grazed his fingers anywhere he could reach, slowly, teasingly, until she shivered and he smiled. Ever ambitious and counting on the wetness she had promised, he pushed three fingers deep into her, immediately finding her spot and muttering overwhelmed curses to himself instinctively at the feel of her. His reaction made her weak and his fingers carried the feeling from there, his thumb rubbing her clit softly and quickly, twitching it back and forth and around. His mouth found her neck and breasts again, returning always to her lips like a devotee paying tribute. When she couldn't stand, when her legs wanted to shake, when she was crying out his name with unembarrassed desperation, he pulled away, glaring at her with defiance as he licked her off of his fingers like she was a rich delicacy.

Quieted and on the edge, Hermione made whining noises she would never admit to. Draco cradled her cheek and looked right into those amber rings, forcing a quiet, intense moment between their passion. He was making it controlled, adult, intimate. He laid her down onto the bed, gently, making sure she was comfortable before he crawled his way up her, kissing every spot he desired, the back of her knee, the insides of her thighs, her hip bones, her nipples, her shoulders, her collarbone, until she was begging. When he finally pushed into her she gasped at the physical memory of it and tightened around him possessively. Her movement brought gasps and groans from him, and in moments they were trembling around each other, collapsing in exhausted bliss.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm cutting us off a little short word-count wise in an effort to end a chapter on a happy note for once! So we'll pick up where we left off with them next time and I promise it will be up soon! All reviews are amazing and wonderful and I literally squeak when I get one.**


	5. 2006 Part 2

**A/N: Oof! This story was such a fun ride for me. So many ups and downs. Thanks so much for all of the favorites and reviews and so many followers. Y'all Dramione people are my people. Heads up- this one is also R rated and all that.**

* * *

 **That Same Night**

Hermione was quiet. Not relaxed, satisfied quiet. The bad kind of quiet that made Draco squirm.

"I can feel you thinking." Without moving his exhausted body, he glanced at the naked witch next to him. Looking at her reminded him that there was no good reason to ever not be touching her, so he ran a few fingertips along her side, collecting the dew of sweat.

"I'm not thinking." Hermione said weakly, between sighs as she found she was still catching her breath. His fingers on the outside of her thigh felt better than silk.

"You're always thinking."

Hermione flipped onto her stomach and propped herself onto her elbows, looking at the man on her left and reaching over to place a doting peck on his shoulder. She focused on making her voice light and untroubled. "Fine. I'm trying not to think, I suppose." Hermione turned her head around to see his sweet face. It was so unlike what everyone thought of him. Even now, with his reputation mostly clear. He wasn't a shrewd businessman at all; he was a passionate, intelligent, beautiful boy.

Draco smirked and pushed himself onto his side to face her, then remembered her bare back and ran his hand down her spine, resting on the arch at the top of her ass as though his only home was the curves of her body. "You're actually famous for being a genius, Granger. I don't think you're going to be successful in your efforts." She smiled and it was a virus. Draco didn't even like smiling, but he couldn't stop tonight.

Hermione faced forward, avoiding eye contact. "I…I'm trying not to think about…us." Draco was silent. His hand, which had been unable to sit still on her glistening skin and had been running up and down her back delicately again, came to a stop. Hermione let the tense quiet sit.

Draco took a breath and stood up. He needed some dignity if they were going to have a real conversation about this. There wasn't much dignity in nudity. He regretted his actions as soon as she followed his lead, pulling on a shirt and her underwear. His trousers buttoned, he took a deep breath, trying to make himself say what he meant, and faced her where she sat on the edge of the bed, her delicious thighs pushed together. He realized she was making no moves to find her pants and he would have to work with this disadvantage. Draco's voice was deep and soft and she could hear the old tint of meanness in it, the cruelty resting just behind his vulnerable question. "Why didn't you write back?"

Hermione felt the cold loss when Draco moved his hand from her back. Their bodies weren't touching, and from only inches away she missed him. Her rational brain didn't understand why they were wearing clothes again. Sighing, she faced him. "I don't know. Honestly. I was…sort of shocked. At first. And then…" she looked down and began to pick at the sheets next to her "…sad. I was quite sad for a long time. And I didn't really write to anybody, Malfoy. Not just you."

"Two years?" Draco could feel the snake of anger ready to strike, on the lookout while he lay his sensitivity out for her to do with what she would.

"I know. And I'm sorry." Her voice was small, too small for the great Hermione Granger. Draco raised an eyebrow and she knew he saw the inauthenticity in her answer. "I am. I didn't know who I was without him. Without him and Harry. I didn't know how to be alone. It took me awhile to figure it out." She was as frustrated with herself as he was, she thought.

"Figured it out, did you?" He snapped. She flinched. He took a deep breath to attempt to calm that angry snake. "I thought when you and Weasley were done…" He hung his head, unable to lose his pride here. "I thought when you were done with him that we would be together."

That irked her. Ron had meant more to her than a bookmark while she waited for Draco to break up with Astoria. She had thought Ron was the love of her life. He had been. Only Draco had been more than that, somehow. She tried to be gentle, despite her spark of irritation. "My relationship with Ron didn't have anything to do with you." Hermione was both pleased and devastated to see the little glow of pain in his face.

It only took a moment, and Draco had turned into his teenage self again. His healthy, happy blush disappeared, his face suddenly a pale sheet of steel with a poison sneer. "I'm aware. I simply thought you would realize how much better you could do." He raised an eyebrow as she stood to face him. "I suppose I overestimated your intelligence there."

Hermione's mouth fell open and she slapped him before she could think better of it. The feel of his soft stubble on her hand alerted her to the surprising choice. His smirk as his face returned to her made her angrier. She realized her mistake of standing so close when she felt his heady scent in her head. She thought yelling might shake it away. "Damn you Malfoy. Don't you dare talk about him. He didn't do anything to you."

The sneer was back, increased and satisfied with the path they were going down. His teeth together, Draco leaned into her ear and growled his reply. "He touched you, didn't he?" Hermione was still as Draco's hand landed on her hip, gripping tight. "You were his for _years_." His other hand found her hair, grabbing a handful and pulling her closer to him. A shiver ran down her spine when her bare legs ran right into his hard want for her. "Years of his hands on you, when it should have been _mine._ " When he kissed her, he bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. In her mind, Hermione carefully decided to let him take her like this, frantic, angry, like he was trying to make up for those lost years.

She whined when he sucked her breast so hard she was sure it would bruise. Still standing, he worked her over her underwear until the fabric was soaked. She kissed and nipped at his chest and he barely reacted. She left dark red marks on his neck and he smirked for the thousandth time, making her growl with frustration which just made his arrogant silence more erotic. He had total control over her, slipping her underwear down and turning her around. Her curved back slammed into his hard chest and she cried out as his mouth found the sensitive spots below her ears.

They hadn't done this since Hogwarts, when they had wonderful hormone-fueled fights for the sole purpose of having each other in this way. When he bent her body and slipped into her she bit her tongue hard, keeping her moans hostage from him. He did everything in his power to find them again, and he knew she was his when she lost control enough to forget the small revenge.

He pulled out and flipped her over and kissed her gently, pushing her wild curls out of her face and leaning his forehead to hers. They finished together, surprisingly quiet, and just before she thought, _this is one desperate love we have here, Draco Malfoy._ But she didn't say a word and held onto his baby-soft hair and toned shoulders.

* * *

They were back where they had begun. Sprawled and overlapping, the sweat evaporating coolly off of their skin. Hermione had flipped over and crawled further into the bed, Draco draping himself onto her. She played with his damp hair and felt his warm breath on her chest. Draco lay a hand on her stomach possessively, curling around her waist. Hermione felt Draco's jaw move when he finally spoke. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, yet she had heard it before. He sounded content. "Do you think it was just a matter of time?"

Hermione played dumb, just for a moment, because it would make both of them smile. She looked at the ceiling as she spoke. "What?"

She felt the smile she had gambled on. "This, Granger. Don't play dumb." He pulled at her waist harder, as if they could be closer, as if their skin could fuse together.

Hermione sighed and she thought of Harry. And Ron, because they were a Trio, after all. They were forever. The three of them, they were _no matter what happens._ They always had been. Since the troll. She and Draco didn't have a troll, and they had never had a guarantee, or a forever, or anything close to that. They had been pulling at each other through war and prejudice and morality, nothing about it had been easy or made sense. The answer was no. She hadn't thought it was a matter of time. She ground her teeth, wishing she didn't have to say this. "I don't think we're meant to be or anything ridiculous like that, Malfoy. Is that what you're saying?"

For perhaps the first time in his life Draco resisted the urge, when wounded, to start a fight. He sat up to prop himself on an elbow and look at her, keeping his expression calm, his tone dry. "You didn't think all of our history would lead somewhere?"

Hermione pretended they were having a purely philosophical conversation. She looked at the wild gray eyes that could talk her over a cliff. "I think it's impossible to predict what might happen next, Draco."

He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Not even with Arithmancy?"

She laughed and he wanted to frame a photo of her being so carefree. "Not even with Arithmancy." She poked his shoulder playfully.

"Okay…but you're a student of history, right Granger?" She nodded and bit her lower lip, so he took a break to kiss her lightly, until she hummed with relaxed satisfaction. "Don't you don't think that patterns in history show that, _for example_ ," he grinned "if a couple has enough history and they keep coming together only to get defeated by the world around them, that they'll eventually end up together?"

It was like the theoretical debates they had relished in between make-out sessions back at Hogwarts. Malfoy could challenge her own intelligence in a way her friends couldn't. "Malfoy, we were together for four months when we were sixteen. That's all." Hermione's face was sillier than he would like it to be.

Draco sat back on his heels. "Oh, don't be simplistic. We've been a lot more than that. The letters? The gala? The library? Merlin, there's a good reason, you know, why neither of us ever got married. Our history or whatever you want to call it is a hell of a lot more than four months."

Hermione took a pause and sat herself up against the pillows, so they were facing each other but not touching. "We hurt people, Malfoy. There's no romance in that." She pulled on the t-shirt he had tossed away hours ago and he frowned at her covering up.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Draco leaned his arm down and found his boxers on the floor. He stood up to put them on. "They never found out, Granger. We've never hurt anyone but ourselves." He was starting to get angry again.

She hung her head, then looked up at him with a tint of black in her amber eyes. "That's not true…"

Draco was silent. Her cruelty had showed up before his; it was almost impressive. His voice became smaller and harder. "You still hate me for that, then?"

Hermione shrugged. She wanted to take it back, but she wouldn't apologize.

"Do you think I…" Draco began, unsure where he would end.

Hermione got off the bed, tired of sitting while he stood. When she climbed off, her naked bottom half was apparent to both of them and the intimacy they had just shared hung in the air. Facing him, she shook her head. "Harry told me what really happened."

He hung his head, still deeply ashamed of his cowardice in accepting the mission and failing at it.

"Take off the glamour, Malfoy."

Draco had to remember where he had placed his wand, and walked to it, remembering that they still smelled like each other, that they were still in those tender after-sex hours when every feeling was more than it should be. The thought emboldened him a little, and he walked up to her, closer than he had been. He watched her eyes as he whispered a spell and pointed his wand at his left arm.

She didn't say a word, but reached out and traced the cursed tattoo. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." She whispered. He thought he heard the catch of tears in her voice, but nothing fell from her eyes. They were hard and dry when she looked up at him. Her mouth was a straight line as she offered her own arm to him, nodding at his wand. He performed the same spell, and flinched when he saw her poisoned scar and silently repeated her actions, delicately tracing the word he had hurled at her as a weapon for years.

"You see? We've hurt people."

"Not you." Draco whispered.

"Yes, I did. Malfoy, I fought too. The Order killed too."

He shook his head but didn't argue, pulling his hand away from her.

"And they knew." He looked at her with a hint of confusion, forgetting for a moment that there had been more than war in their tarnished past. "Ron and… Astoria." She found it hard to say the other woman's name.

"I thought he never found the letters?"

Hermione shook her head. "He didn't. But that doesn't mean he didn't have an idea. You don't think Astoria could feel that she wasn't the only one you…" she looked down, remembering how much she didn't know about his relationship. "Ron could tell, I think, that I wanted someone else." The confession was impossibly sharp against her throat.

Draco's eyes closed and he pressed his lips together. "She had…an idea." Hermione nodded once, solemn.

Draco sat on the bed, rubbing his face in his hands. Hermione had the strangest flash of memory; her dad did the same thing when he was stressed. Pulling his face out of his hands, he looked at her resolutely. "Okay, so we've fought in a war, and we hurt each other, and we hurt other people, and we cheated. Fine. But none of that is true now." He reached out a hand and Hermione hesitantly placed hers in his. Simply touching again planted a seedling of hope in her chest. Draco used his strength to physically pull her to him, placing her body between his legs.

He looked up at her, somewhere between mature and pleading. "We're not soldiers or assassins anymore. We're not at Hogwarts. We're not in relationships." He reached for a warm cheek. "Tell me what's stopping us now, Hermione." Pushing her back slightly, he stood, their bodies pressing together, reminding him of that moment in the bar so much earlier tonight. Reminding him of that moment in Hogwarts a million years ago when she asked for help reaching a book. "Tell me what's in our way and I'll fix it."

A laugh of an exhale escaped Hermione's mouth. It was surprise and hope and astonishment at _these_ words from _this_ man. It was incredible to think how hard this moment would be for anyone else to imagine. Yet, here his pale, strong, scarred arms were wrapping around her waist, not waiting for an answer before he kissed her like they were teenagers again, knocking her fears out of her body with the power of his lips. Draco tore off her top for the third time that night and his lips trailed down her body, repeating "Tell me" with each pull away from her skin that tasted more like him than her at this point. His lips were freckling the inside of her thighs when she gave in. "Nothing." His eyes found hers and she ran her hand through his hair, gratitude taking up all the space in her, leaving no room for fear. "There's nothing to fix, Draco."

* * *

 **Epilogue**

They didn't tell anyone for another three months. "Let me have you to myself, just for a little while." Hermione had begged. Draco had seconded the opinion and made his ownership of her well known within the confines of his apartment.

They were at her place, eating Chinese food on the couch, being playful and laughing the way only adults falling madly in love laugh when people started finding out. Ginny floo'd into the living room without warning and found Draco Malfoy's legs intertwined with her best friend's. Draco left immediately and there was a lot of explaining, and a confession of love, Hermione's eyes shining with the kind of bliss that causes tears.

Hermione left out the letters, the gala, and the library. Those were their secrets to keep warm and protected. Still, no one took the Hogwarts-era details well. Ginny practically had to push Hermione to the fireplace and throw floo powder at her. The explanation to Harry was shorter, tenser, and less conclusive. He would get used to it, he promised. He was glad she was happy, he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione was terrified when she told Ron. They didn't speak for another six months. But he would get there, she knew, because they were forever.

Draco and Hermione hid in each other for a solid year, engulfed in new love and mostly ignoring work and friends and the world. It felt earned.

After two years, during a very cold January, they had a fight neither of them knew the cause of, but there was screaming and threats of curses and a moment when a livid Draco pinned Hermione against the wall and stood, silent, waiting for her to choose to let him take her standing or leave. She left his apartment and cried every night for a whole week. He showed up after two weeks and they made up tangled in blankets on the floor near the fireplace. They got their own apartment after that.

Three years later, Draco bought a ring. When he came home the day after making the purchase, he found her with a suitcase in hand. She was leaving, for at least two years, to get an advanced degree in America, and she didn't want to be with him in that time. She wanted to learn how to be alone, and she didn't think they could handle long distance. Draco started sleeping with Muggles, and Hermione learned how to be self-sufficient, and depressed, in a cold New England town.

Two years later, she showed up at Draco's door, her hair relaxed and down to her waist, her eyes exhausted and wanting home, which was him. He took her into his arms and whispered, "I knew you would come back to me." She had to lean up to his ear, rubbing against his grown-out stubble, to answer, "You can't predict the future, Draco."

"No, but I can predict you, Granger." His kiss was full of history and future and all things impossible.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you liked this! I wasn't sure they were going to get their HEA, so I gave them a more realistic one! Thanks for reading and following. Please read and Review!**


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